


and, one more thing

by orphan_account



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distance made Mikleo shy. It doesn’t change anything in Sorey, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and, one more thing

**Author's Note:**

> from tumblr:
> 
> modern au where mikleo’s a first year in college, sorey’s in his last year of high school, and he’s missed him during the fall semester.   
>  also: top mikleo. ship continues to destroy.

 

*

 

Mikleo comes home from college for winter break while Sorey still has classes, and walks in through the door one afternoon while Sorey wrangles with derivatives and tries not to think about how many questions he’s going to get wrong on his exams in the spring.

"That’s a negative two," he murmurs, peering over Sorey’s shoulder and wincing at how loudly the other boy is playing his music, so loud that it’s audible even through the headphones. He’s not sure Sorey heard him at all, but it doesn’t matter, because the next moment Sorey turns like he’s been waiting for him and throws his arms around Mikleo’s neck with all the enthusiasm and grace of a baby goat.

Distance made Mikleo shy. It doesn’t change anything in Sorey, at least.

"Mikleo! Your hair got longer– hey, are you gonna grow it out?" Sorey exclaims into his shoulder, not bothering to draw back from how he’s basically draped over said shoulder. "How’s– well, everything? Alisha’s been _dying_ to know, like, what’s college like and stuff?"

"One question at a time," Mikleo protests weakly, but really it’s because he doesn’t want to talk just yet, because he wants to settle his racing heartbeat, and breathe in the way Sorey smells all over again, pine and fresh laundry and hair gel and warm honey. Sorey’s shoulders are broader even though it’s only been a few months since they last met up, and Mikleo wants to brace his hands on them, feel the warm muscles underneath for himself. "I don’t know yet, but maybe if it doesn’t look too bad, huh?"

"Wait, let me take another look," Sorey says out of nowhere, draws back and stares vaguely at his forehead for all of three seconds before his smiles one of his innocent, all too knowing smiles and leans in to kiss Mikleo’s mouth.

Mikleo tries to protest again. He really does. But instead, he melts against Sorey the same way Sorey used to melt against him when they were little kids and he had to haul him back home after playing too long; instead of pulling away, he kisses back, and stops thinking about it.

"Great," Sorey whispers when they finally, finally stop kissing, "Great, I–"

"Always rushing into things without thinking," Mikleo replies rather unsteadily, and grabs blindly at the back of his shirt to pull him closer and kiss him again.

(Sorey’s always thought that Mikleo has beautiful hands. – slender palms, pale strips of wrist flashing under sunlight, tapered fingers elegant in the way they hold a book or tap out across a keyboard. Pianist hands, Sorey would insist ever since he came across the phrase in a book, even though Mikleo’s never so much as touched a piano in his life.

Mikleo’s other parts are pretty, too, like his mouth that never quite smiles all the way anymore (even though Sorey knows; he can feel the smile just because he _knows_ ), and his graceful arms, the smooth curve of his waist that he always hides under loose shirts. There’s not really a point in hiding anything from Sorey, though; Sorey, who grew up attached physically to pretty much any part of Mikleo that he could stay attached to, who knows that under Mikleo’s wiry limbs hides a strength that can pin down a far stronger person than himself, who looks over his friend’s body with an eager, proud brightness in his eyes.)

"Well, that’s why I have you," Sorey informs him, trusting in a way that Mikleo hasn’t felt this strongly from him for a while, and then he tips his head back to look Mikleo in the eye and say, quietly, "That’s why you always take care of me."

Mikleo feels something like a confession flooding his entire body.

Then he realizes it’s simply the fact that Sorey is there, in his arms, young and grown up and serious and shy all at the same time, that Sorey’s been like this for a while now, waiting for the right moment to show him.

"And," he asks, "how exactly do you want me to take care of you?"

"Like you always have," is the half-smiling answer, "better than anyone else."

Mikleo’s mouth goes dry. It’s not hard, he tells himself, it’s not hard to figure out what Sorey is saying, between the pauses and smiles and nervous glances at his collar, “I'm not–”

Sorey kisses him hard. He feels it about to happen about a breath’s beat before it does, but the action still shocks him, makes him freeze up before kissing back, testing the waters, licking gently at Sorey’s lips.

"Come here," Sorey crosses the carpeted floor in a few quick steps, sitting back on his bed, "Mikleo."

It’s easy enough to slip between Sorey’s legs because he’s invited to; Sorey laughs a satisfied little laugh and then his fingers are pulling at Mikleo’s sweater, yanking it up and pulling the t-shirt underneath along with it. The entire thing comes off peeled and inverted, tosses across the bed in a heap of fabric, which makes Sorey laugh harder and put his hands on the bare skin of Mikleo’s arms and–

His hands are warm, and every last urge of Mikleo’s to point out how his clothes are going to get wrinkles vanishes.

"Take yours off, too," Mikleo tells him softly. Sorey does so, pulls his shirt over his head in a fluid easy motion that makes Mikleo swallow hard, and then drapes himself over Mikleo again and laughs more.

“ _What_.”

"You’re so much paler than I am! It’s funny."

It’s–

"It’s not funny!"

"It’s pretty funny."

" _Sorey_."

Sorey’s smile is infuriating. “What?”

Mikleo feels his nerves going raw. “Do you want to do this or not?”

Sorey draws back to look at Mikleo full on. It hits Mikleo again how much older he looks, how much he’s grown since the start of the school year, the childish edges of his jaw stronger and a sort of certainty in the way his hands set themselves on his thighs that used to be all wild motion instead. “Of course I do. I want this. You. Mikleo, I want you, I want you to fuck me.”

*

By the time Mikleo has Sorey on his back, legs wrapped loosely around his waist, he’s learned so many things:

Like the arch of Sorey’s back, so strong and dramatic that for a moment Mikleo really was afraid that he’d hurt himself. Like the pitch of Sorey’s voice when he tasted him for the first time. Like the weight of him on his lips, in his hand. Like the freckles on the ridge of his hip bones, surprising and adorable.

Sorey’s voice stutters out a something between a warning and a confession, his hands reaching up to sift through Mikleo’s hair. Mikleo has three seconds to suddenly notice that the sheets are damp underneath where his knees dig into them, must be damp under Sorey’s back, Sorey’s skin is damp and flushed and gorgeous, and then Sorey’s legs tighten and his head tips back and Mikleo’s hand between them is ceaseless and merciless.

*

"F-fuck– oh god, Mikleo, _Mikleo_ –"

*

The soreness and strain along Mikleo’s neck and shoulders goes like fireworks, unendingly loud and bright before dispersing.

He collapses half on top of Sorey, half on top of the mattress, and almost immediately Sorey turns and grabs at his shoulders, right where the ache of trying to keep himself from crushing the other boy is.

"Ow," Mikleo says, dazed, not really caring. His heartbeat is doing most of the talking for him, and for the moment, that’s just fine.

"Shouldn’t I be the one saying ow?" Sorey mumbles back along the pale edge of Mikleo’s skin, earning him a half-worried glance.

Mikleo lets himself have a minute, mostly to catch his breath, to let the fever-heat on his body cool again, and then he turns to look at Sorey properly.

Sorey looks as dazed as he feels, bright smile wet and peeling at the edges to reveal something deeper underneath, something star struck and relieved and tender and soft, feathery in a way that Mikleo can hardly believe Sorey is.

"See," Sorey says after a moment, and his lips never looked quite so soft, so red, "knew you’d take care of me."

It takes Mikleo a moment to react. He pulls the pillow out from under Sorey’s hips, ignores the surprised yelp, and whacks it into his chest. “You’re such a dumbass,” he mutters, and then leans down for a kiss.

 

 


End file.
